incolore's Journal [entries|friends|calendar] incolore honey i'm a prize and you're a catch and we're a perfect match [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

[30 Mar 2009|01:53pm] Started smoking again. Oops. ?

SUPERPOWERS [30 Jun 2008|12:08am] Mostly I hope for invisibility. That, or to vomit money. 3 ?

[19 Feb 2008|08:06pm] It was a faint line that brought you here and a pulse that kept you in time. It was the comfort of a tradition but the fear that you were not that kind. And it's a shame now, baby, you can't see yourself in everything you're running from. And it's the same world, honey, that has brought you down as the one that's gonna pick you up, and pick you up.

[02 Oct 2007|08:57pm] Blown out candles always smell like Birthdays. ?

Bonobos: [31 Aug 2007|12:42pm] They have sex to diffuse aggression. Make love not war. 1 ?

[22 Jun 2007|09:11pm] Oh the moral dilemmas of young Brenda and Brandon Walsh! Show me more West Beverly High School! ?

Like Wow [25 Jan 2007|10:21pm] 1 ?

Boris Pasternak [22 Nov 2006|07:19pm] In the Wood Blurred by a lilac heat, the meadows: in the wood, cathedral shadows swirled. What on earth was left for them to kiss? So like wax, soft in the fingers, theirs, the world. There’s a dream – you do not sleep, you only dream you long for sleep: someone’s dozing, two black suns are beating under eyelids, burning eyelashes, while he’s slumbering. Sunbeams play. Iridescent beetles flow by, dragon-flies’ glass skims over his cheek. With tiny scintillations, the wood’s alive, like those the clockmakers’ tweezers seek. It seems he slept to the tick of figures, while in acid, amber ether, over his head, the hands of a carefully tested clock quiver, regulated precisely by tremors of heat. They calibrate, they shake the pines, scatter the shadow, exhaust and pierce the darkness of timber raised up high, in the day’s fatigue, on the blue clock-face. It seems a primal happiness was setting, it seems the wood was sunk in sunlit dream. Happy folk don’t spend time clock-watching, but this pair were only sleeping, it seems. && ‘February. Take ink and weep,' February. Take ink and weep, write February as you’re sobbing, while black Spring burns deep through the slush and throbbing. Take a cab. For a clutch of copecks, through bell-towers’ and wheel noise, go where the rain-storm’s din breaks, greater than crying or ink employs. Where rooks in thousands falling, like charred pears from the skies, drop down into puddles, bringing cold grief to the depths of eyes. Below, the black shows through, and the wind’s furrowed with cries: the more freely, the more truly then, sobbing verse is realised. 1 ?

Postcard [09 Dec 2005|12:23pm] [ mood | Margaret Atwood ] I'm thinking of you. What else can I say? The palm trees on the reverse are a delusion; so is the pink sand. What we have are the usual fractured coke bottles and the smell of backed-up drains, too sweet, like a mango on the verge of rot, which we have also. The air clear sweat, mosquitos & their tracks; birds, blue & elusive. Time comes in waves here, a sickness, one day after the other rolling on; I move up, its called awake, then down into the uneasy nights but never forward. The roosters crow for hours before dawn, and a prodded child howls & howls on the pocked road to school. In the hold with the baggage there are two prisoners, their heads shaved by bayonets, & ten crates of queasy chicks. Each spring there's a race of cripples, from the store to the church. This is the sort of junk I carry with me; and a clipping about democracy from the local paper. Outside the window they're building the damn hotel, nail by nail, someone's crumbling dream. A universe that includes you can't be all bad, but does it? At this distance you're a mirage, a glossy image fixed in the posture of the last time i saw you. Turn you over, there's the place for the address. Wish you were here. Love comes in waves like the ocean, a sickness which goes on & on, a hollow cave in the head, filling and pounding, a kicked ear. ?

[01 Oct 2005|12:07pm] I think it's amazing that everyone is having all of these great college experiences and doing things they have never done before. I love college. Seriously. I don't know how I could adequately express how appreciative I am of this city and these people and the things that I'm doing, and I think that most people, at whatever college they are attending, feel exactly the same. It's this feeling of unity that I can't quite pinpoint but it's there and it just makes me feel electric and infinite. And alive. There is so much potential in life and all of this and I find myself constantly overwhelmed by it. Anytime I see the skyline life breaks down into its simplest form and I'm happy. Honestly happy. I know beyond any doubt that this is where I'm supposed to be right now in my life. I'm not sure if most people are ever fortunate enough to experience a feeling of completion so grand. I sound so hokey. Make fun of me, I'm deserving of it. Haha. ?

[16 Aug 2005|01:54pm] I just want to LEAVE already and be DONE with this. ?

[19 Jul 2005|05:50pm] My today fell in from the top. ?

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front [22 Jun 2005|12:49pm] [ mood | Wendell Berry ] Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay. Want more of everything ready-made. Be afraid to know your neighbors and to die. And you will have a window in your head. Not even your future will be a mystery any more. Your mind will be punched in a card and shut away in a little drawer. When they want you to buy something they will call you. When they want you to die for profit they will let you know. So, friends, every day do something that won't compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it. Denounce the government and embrace the flag. Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands. Give your approval to all you cannot understand. Praise ignorance, for what man has not encountered he has not destroyed. Ask the questions that have no answers. Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias. Say that your main crop is the forest that you did not plant, that you will not live to harvest. Say that the leaves are harvested when they have rotted into the mold. Call that profit. Prophesy such returns. Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years. Listen to carrion -- put your ear close, and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come. Expect the end of the world. Laugh. Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful though you have considered all the facts. So long as women do not go cheap for power, please women more than men. Ask yourself: Will this satisfy a woman satisfied to bear a child? Will this disturb the sleep of a woman near to giving birth? Go with your love to the fields. Lie down in the shade. Rest your head in her lap. Swear allegiance to what is nighest your thoughts. As soon as the generals and the politicos can predict the motions of your mind, lose it. Leave it as a sign to mark the false trail, the way you didn't go. Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection. ?

[20 Jun 2005|02:16pm] Motherfaulkner. I have a hole in my heart the size of something fierce and a skip & a jump in my step that just won't let up. I'm having both looked into. BUT until then, it is: 1] Sunny 2] Over AND that, my friends, is flooring news. Honest to goshness. ALSO! I want to go summer reading shopping real bad. Spider solitaire can only keep me entertained for so long... ?

DESIRE #4 [20 May 2005|08:07pm] [ mood | Patricia Fargnoli ] Soon he will leave, a man with four suitcases hurrying into the rain. All that can be kept then is the black belt of sadness which you have earned four times over. This is the hardest lesson-- you must let go of what you would hold too firmly. Four times the bells ring, loud at first-- and then softer, the sound disappearing above you in the wet, white pines. ?

[11 May 2005|03:18pm] UNFRUITFUL. 2 ?

Note: [09 May 2005|03:34pm] I'm never not proofreading my posts ever again. My goodness. ?

[05 May 2005|08:26pm] [ mood | eeeeee! ] Let's hear it for the boy. Seriously. 4 ?

[14 Dec 2004|06:53pm] [ mood | ironical ] Being in love with conflicting ideas has its advantages: I never know what I'm going to do next. 1 ?

navigation [ viewing | most recent entries ]